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Authors: Joe Nobody
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure
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the older man looked to need serious medical care. H e and Terri should go there anyway , as they wanted the town’s doctor to check out Terri’s pregnancy.
After he had cautiously approached within 100 feet of the wreckage, he called out, “Hey , you at the crash site . I ’m the guy who just helped you. I ’m coming in. Please don’t shoot.”
It took a little bit, but a you ng voice eventually yelled back. “Don’t try it. I ’ve got grandpa’s pistol , and I ’ll shoot if you come close.” Kid’ s got balls; I’ll give him that.
“Son, I don’t have time for this shit. It’s going to be dark soon , and your friends will probably be back. I know your grandfather is hurt badly, so let me come in , and I ’ll help you out.”
Another voic e, older but weaker , yelled back. “Bishop? Is that you?”
Bishop froze. How the hell do they know my name? That voice - where have I heard that voice?
It took him almost a full minute to recover from the shock. When he did, he called back, “Yes, my name is Bishop. Who are you?”
He could hear mumbling coming from the air plane for a bit. Eventually, the response was from t he kid again. “If you are Bishop, what ’s your wife’s name?”
Bishop’s patience was wearing thin. “My wife’s name is Terri. I don’t have time to play 20 fucking questions. Identify yourselves or I’m out of here, and you’re on your own.”
The kid’s voice sounded almost embarrassed , “Come on in , Bishop. I won’t shoot.”
Chapter 4
Senator Moreland was delighted by the sound of the birds singing outside his West Virginia home. It was so rare to hear the ir chorus this time of year. As he stood looking through the enormous glass windows surrounding the great room, he was tempted to venture outside and enjoy the melting sn ow and bright sunshine with the little flock . The afternoon had delivered a clear blue heaven , and the sun was working hard to melt the icicles han g ing from the roof. After two consecutive days of angry clouds and blowing snow, the front had passed , allowing one of those wonderfully crisp days that were clearly welcomed by the few remaining birds who hadn’t made the journey south some months ago.
The s enator needed a day like this. For over two years, it seemed like everything in life had been grey. Never black n or white, always grey , like the rolling clouds and darkened sky the last few days. Perhaps this was a sign of the times ahead for his country and his people. Perhaps a new , wonderfully bright day was about to warm the troubled land - a land weary of its long struggle under an overcast of decline .
Another sip from the hot cup of tea cradled in his hand warmed his insides. Maybe his ice would melt as well. He gazed down into the valley that spread out below the App alachia estate. Patches of earth were becoming visible, seeming to rise out of the sea of white snow. It reminded him of the diagram he had just been studying. It was a map of his country that showed patches o f the territory he and his interests now controlled. They had been struggling to uncover as much of America as they could, thawing a small town or city, here or there, from the blanket of anarchy and confusion that fallen on the land like a deep snow. Now some of the larger cities were joining their cause, and just like the sun would eventually thaw the frozen land , he felt their leadership would shine bright enough to free the rest of the nation .
Moreland wasn’t sure who had coined the name “t he Independents.” It was a fact that independent voters in America had been growing in numbers for several years . While his movement’s ideology reflected many of the views associated with that constituency , more so than either Republican or Democrat , i t was more than political alignment that drove his cause . It was a growing realization that the two party system, Electoral College and many other aspects of government were antiquated and
After he had cautiously approached within 100 feet of the wreckage, he called out, “Hey , you at the crash site . I ’m the guy who just helped you. I ’m coming in. Please don’t shoot.”
It took a little bit, but a you ng voice eventually yelled back. “Don’t try it. I ’ve got grandpa’s pistol , and I ’ll shoot if you come close.” Kid’ s got balls; I’ll give him that.
“Son, I don’t have time for this shit. It’s going to be dark soon , and your friends will probably be back. I know your grandfather is hurt badly, so let me come in , and I ’ll help you out.”
Another voic e, older but weaker , yelled back. “Bishop? Is that you?”
Bishop froze. How the hell do they know my name? That voice - where have I heard that voice?
It took him almost a full minute to recover from the shock. When he did, he called back, “Yes, my name is Bishop. Who are you?”
He could hear mumbling coming from the air plane for a bit. Eventually, the response was from t he kid again. “If you are Bishop, what ’s your wife’s name?”
Bishop’s patience was wearing thin. “My wife’s name is Terri. I don’t have time to play 20 fucking questions. Identify yourselves or I’m out of here, and you’re on your own.”
The kid’s voice sounded almost embarrassed , “Come on in , Bishop. I won’t shoot.”
Chapter 4
Senator Moreland was delighted by the sound of the birds singing outside his West Virginia home. It was so rare to hear the ir chorus this time of year. As he stood looking through the enormous glass windows surrounding the great room, he was tempted to venture outside and enjoy the melting sn ow and bright sunshine with the little flock . The afternoon had delivered a clear blue heaven , and the sun was working hard to melt the icicles han g ing from the roof. After two consecutive days of angry clouds and blowing snow, the front had passed , allowing one of those wonderfully crisp days that were clearly welcomed by the few remaining birds who hadn’t made the journey south some months ago.
The s enator needed a day like this. For over two years, it seemed like everything in life had been grey. Never black n or white, always grey , like the rolling clouds and darkened sky the last few days. Perhaps this was a sign of the times ahead for his country and his people. Perhaps a new , wonderfully bright day was about to warm the troubled land - a land weary of its long struggle under an overcast of decline .
Another sip from the hot cup of tea cradled in his hand warmed his insides. Maybe his ice would melt as well. He gazed down into the valley that spread out below the App alachia estate. Patches of earth were becoming visible, seeming to rise out of the sea of white snow. It reminded him of the diagram he had just been studying. It was a map of his country that showed patches o f the territory he and his interests now controlled. They had been struggling to uncover as much of America as they could, thawing a small town or city, here or there, from the blanket of anarchy and confusion that fallen on the land like a deep snow. Now some of the larger cities were joining their cause, and just like the sun would eventually thaw the frozen land , he felt their leadership would shine bright enough to free the rest of the nation .
Moreland wasn’t sure who had coined the name “t he Independents.” It was a fact that independent voters in America had been growing in numbers for several years . While his movement’s ideology reflected many of the views associated with that constituency , more so than either Republican or Democrat , i t was more than political alignment that drove his cause . It was a growing realization that the two party system, Electoral College and many other aspects of government were antiquated and
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